“A jest in the death chamber conquers by surprise.”

Such often unstated truths pepper the prose of Ambrose Bierce, lending s sense of fullness to the reading of even his shortest tales. The Damned Thing begins with an insightful atmospheric sketch, which places the living in the presence of the dead and in the context of their belonging.

Bierce seems to enjoy—as did Robert E. Howard—assigning writers who appear as characters in his fiction with less than admirable characteristics. This brilliantly disturbing little tale culminates as an exercise in putting man’s limited perspective in perspective, the gravity of the point accentuated by the brevity of the narrative.